


Home is Where My Cats Are

by TrashRemastered



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anders is a crybaby, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, How Do I Tag, Post-Here Lies the Abyss, Reunions, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 10:18:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7711216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashRemastered/pseuds/TrashRemastered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had to take care of himself… besides who would take of the cats? Marian would surely never forgive him if he came to the Maker’s side and left the cats on their lonesome with no one to let them inside and shelter them from the extreme winters of Ferelden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home is Where My Cats Are

**Author's Note:**

> A story I did for a friend on Quotev with her Hawke and Anders. She told me she wanted a reunion story and so I delivered!

Anders, the first time he reads Varric’s letter, cannot believe the words the dwarf writes to him. He reads the pages with a blank face, his throat burning and his eyes wet as he finds himself in disbelief. He reads the letter over and over again, each time more slowly as he tries to find anything that could lead him to believe that Hawke still lived. Yet, when nothing but an apology and a suspicious amount of ink smudges where water seemed to displace the ink was found Anders fell into his despair.

For the first couple of days he was numb. He couldn’t believe the words of the letter and refused to believe that Hawke could be gone so easily, but as the days went on he began to grow disheartened.

He would glance to the door of his and Marian’s little cottage, watching and straining to hear every little sound just beyond the door. Sometimes he was confident he heard her whistling as she walked down the path to their house, her feet crunching in the twigs as she approached him; yet, the door never opened and when he walked to the windowless windows to peer into the secluded forest he found no trace of his lover's return.

 

Before long those days he had spent haunting his own house became a few weeks. He barely left the cottage in case she returned and when he finally did settle into his bed for the night he cried.

They were ugly tears, that much was sure, the beautiful way people cry in books and plays thrown to the wind as Anders curled himself around the pillows Marian normally slept against and sobbed with little restraint. Her scent was faint but Anders was pleased it was still there, that Marian’s existence wasn’t a dream and that it was proof that for a time he was happy.

His cats, as independent as they settled to resting against him. Their voices loud as if they were trying to comfort him the best they could until Anders feel asleep, his dreams blank and colorless as he worked to keeping the tone of her voice and the color of her eyes. Yet, as soon as he would wake up the process would start all over again and he would be caught listening for her as hearth burned and crackled with life.

 

Frost had just begun to settle against the leaves when Anders finally caught sight of himself in the reflection of a chilled pool of water. He, like he had assumed, looked worn. His eyes were bloodshot, his blonde hair matted and longer than he had seen it since he had been on the road. He looked pale as well, his cheeks sunken and heavy bags of purple and black weighing down against his eyes.              

Faintly, Anders smiled with a harsh scoff. He looked awful he affirmed before he looked away and stood from his post in front of the crackling hearth. He knew that if Marian could see him like this she would remark on how despair didn’t look great on him, and if she were honest she wouldn’t want him to spend the rest of his life wallowing. But else could he do? He had blown up Kirkwall’s chantry and mages and Templars alike wished for nothing more but to throw him to the wolves. All he had after the chantry burned to the ground and everyone turned his back on him was Hawke and several strays. Nowadays it seemed he had no one.

Fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose, Anders sighed warily. He had to take care of himself… besides who would take of the cats? Marian would surely never forgive him if he came to the Maker’s side and left the cats on their lonesome with no one to let them inside and shelter them from the extreme winters of Ferelden. For a moment that was good enough in the terms of encouragement and Anders let his hand drop to his side and run along the rumpled fur of an old tabby cat before he willed himself to put on his winter cloak and walk out into the forest for firewood as well as food. This time, when he left he didn’t leave a letter, he just went.

Anders feels as if he’s been gone and out of the house for hours and for a moment he fears the fire will have died and the house will be cold as soon as he walks in. As he trudges with heavy limbs however, he finds that fire still burns and the smoke that escapes the chimney is strong like their own darkened clouds against the gray winter sky.

In his arms he carries an armful of logs, his hands red with the cheeks and his eyes stinging with the wind that whips against him in harsh breaths. He hurries inside, placing the logs against the wall beside the door before he pulls at his clothing and places his cloak against the hooks on the wall. He pauses for a moment as he looks to his cold tinged cloak he places there and the dark cloak beside it. He swears he hadn’t noticed it before but he remembers it to be Hawke’s and he smiles fondly, hands brushing against the fabric.

Next, Anders slips off his heavy boots and places them alongside the other pair there only to find himself pausing once more. Boots and a cloak? The boots are Marian’s, the scuffed and faded leather making his heart pound and his mind wonder if perhaps he truly had lost himself in the wintery forest because surely she wasn’t here and Anders had fallen into the trap of some desire demon.              

Yet, still, he hopes and prays that the Maker somehow returned Marian to him

He checks the hearth first as he comes out of the doorway only to find it empty. Strangely a new log has been placed on the fire, and there against the table Marian’s stave rests against the table. He feels his breath hitch and his eyes glance to their bedroom. Slowly, he approaches it, his hand hovering and his heart pounding and roaring in his ears. He was afraid to open the door and be disappointed, while another part of him is desperate to know, to reassure himself that Marian is back indeed...

And so Anders pushes the door open slowly.             

“Marian?” he calls out softly to the room before it opens all the way and he hears shuffling. Anders wills himself to walk inside, his eyes landing on Marian’s side of the bed only to find the gentle shape of her under the covers. She doesn’t say anything but Anders can see her breathing and for the moment that is enough to bring tears to his eyes as he rushes over to her and presses his frostbitten lips against her skin, anywhere he could reach.              

“I thought you were—… “ Anders starts only to have Marian wrap her arms around him and pull him against her in a tight hug. “Don’t say it…” she whispers, her lips moving to press against his cheeks and wipe away the tears there, “I’ll explain everything later but right now I want to be held or else I fear you’ll catch a cold.” Anders doesn’t fight it and laughs softly, crawling in beside her as he wraps his arms around her takes in the warmth of her. He feels her heart beat against his and Anders is sure it is really her and his eyes close, sleep taking him as Marian presses her lips against his cheeks and rests beside him.              

“I’ve been through a lot… but I’d go through it again if only to see you.” Marian whispers against his forehead, the smell of snow and frost and pine against his skin as she closed her own eyes and held him closer


End file.
